Thoughtcrimes: Observation
by reen212000
Summary: Freya McAllister is missing. Terri Merriweather helps Brendan find her. Written for challenge 15 at matterofthemind on LJ.


Picture challenge #15 on matterofthemind at LJ.

Observation

I've worked with Brendan Dean for nearly four years. While I'm not a field agent, I feel like I'm his partner, guiding him where he needs to go. The research, the leads, everything. Everything he needs to accomplish his goals, to solve a case.

All in all, we have a unique relationship. I love him like a brother, and sometimes hate him like one, too. Sure, I get him coffee, lunch, or whatever, then make him eat it. But I'm not his secretary. The best thing about Brendan is that he knows that. The first word in every report is 'we.' It never mattered that he always found the lead; he acknowledged that he had back up at all times.

Except for now.

He's wearing the same coffee-stained shirt from two days ago, and it's doubtful he's slept at all. His new partner, Freya, went missing from her home three days ago. Brendan came to go over some case files and found the door busted and her place trashed. I know exactly what his first thought was; didn't even have to ask. Somehow, he would think it was his fault. I don't know where he gets these ideas, and it's the last thing he needs right now after being his own case a few months ago.

As I get closer to his desk, I notice the dark smudges under his eyes. I want to find her too, but I'm too old to stay upright for that long. "Hey, Dean. You go home yet?" I ask.

Brendan blinks blearily at me. "Oh, hey, Merriweather. When did you get here?" Looking around him, it seems he just noticed the nearly vacant office. "What time is it?"

"Seven. And it's Thursday, by the way. That shirt's cooked."

He looked confused at first, then down at his shirt. "Thursday?" Standing, he rummaged through his desk for a packaged shirt. Glancing back at his desk littered with papers, something caught his eye.

There's aha moments, and then there's Brendan Dean's version. His eyes lost focus; I can see him remembering every detail of everything about this case. I watched his lips move, but no sound came. The same word over and over.

Thursday.

Blindly, he reached for a buried paper on the desk. Damn, if he didn't know exactly where it was. Frowning, his eyes wandered over the paper, then dove for his computer. I swear he still hasn't focused on anything as his fingers flew over the keyboard. He's scary sometimes.

Pointing at the screen, he finally spoke. "This isn't about us. It's about June."

"Catch me up, kid." I needed that overworked brain of his to slow down.

Blinking twice, I watched him focus on me. Taking a deep breath, he sat back down. "Three weeks ago, June McAllister received a case to defend an con by the name of Harry Craft. This guy has a varied past, but nothing serious, mostly misdemeanors." Another flurry of tapping keys. "Harry's uncle hired him as lookout for a smash-and-grab. Unfortunately, he was the only one that got caught."

"So he's taking the fall," I surmised. "So the uncle wants him to stay out of prison, or what?"

Brendan frowned, and closed his eyes. "It's a theory." He rose unsteadily, grabbing a clean shirt. It's not right that he keeps shirts in his desk, really. "Lemme change before Harper gets here." That said, he was off.

I hate cliches. Why does this guy kidnap someone's sister just to keep someone out of jail? The lawyer can't sway the jury, but testimonies can make the police look bad. Wait a second...

Taking Brendan's chair, I do my own search. The arresting officer was one Mark Ferrio. This was not good. Ferrio had never been on the straight and narrow, and had ties to several crime syndicates. No one could catch him in the act, therefore he's still on the force. Ferrio has always been on Harper's radar, so this little bit of information might be the break we've been looking for.

When Brendan came back, he looked more determined, more alert. "All right, what –"

"I think I have my own theory about what Uncle Craft was up to." Leafing through two well-placed files, I pointed my fellow agent in the direction of the officer. "Detective Ferrio was involved in the case that got Warren Craft sent to prison three years ago. He served his time, and now he's out."

"So Craft wants us to look there." I didn't have to look at him to know he was chewing his lip. If Freya were here, she'd tell him to stop. "Why go through all this trouble?"

Scrolling through all the files, I saw an address, the same address over and over. "Have we checked this address?"

Brendan sat down heavily on a borrowed chair. "It doesn't exist," he said, voice distant as he scanned the papers on his desk. "7739 East Plaza Road is not an address anywhere. But," he turned the paper upside down. "This is a location. 7739 could spell BELL –"

"Bell Plaza." I catch on quick sometimes. "It was a strip mall, but it's condemned."

"Look at this. It's Ferrio's first big bust. Same place, Bell Plaza." I watched Brendan's pale face as the pieces fell together. "That's where things hit the fan for Warren Craft."

"You think Freya's at Bell Plaza?"

"I know she is. Call Kunzel. My guess is the police will be called just before the place gets knocked down."

"And Craft will most likely get killed in the blast. Or resisting arrest."

Brendan scrubbed a hand over his face and through his hair. "We better go. Tell Kunzel and whoever you can scrounge up to meet us there."

"Me? You want me to go?" Not a field agent!

"Yes, you. Keep me company until back up comes." Then he gives me that smile that tells me he has no intention of waiting for Kunzel. "You can out-shoot most of these jerks anyway."

Well, that is true. "It's almost eight. Let's go."

-----------------------

We arrived at the defunct Bell Plaza, and Brendan swung the car around to the west side of the lot. The fake address told Brendan that they would be on the east side, nearest the road. Exiting the car, we both head for the small group of agents gathered behind the crumbling wall of the building.

Agent Patel immediately walked over to Brendan, who had taken off his coat revealing his bulletproof vest. When did he put that on? Better question: How does Brendan Dean not blow away in a stiff wind? I think that vest is heavier than him right now. Patel is giving him a radio and a gun that looked a whole lot meaner than the one presently in his holster.

Brendan planned the raid; everyone nodded in unison as he directed them. They all had the same goal: Get the hostage out safely with little or no collateral damage. He glanced back at me; there was an expression I couldn't determine. Then it was gone, his pale face turned into a hard mask. I could tell he was about to detach from everything, be Agent Dean, NSA, and not Brendan.

"What's up?" I asked. He really didn't want me anywhere near the fight, I could tell. But he had something in mind for me by the cold smile he sported.

"Agent Merriweather, I'd like you monitor the local PD. If Ferrio so much as coughs, tell me." Checking his gun, he leads the men around the front, while others have broken off to go around the back. I watched them creep along the boarded up windows and doors. Brendan always seemed so instinctual, hearing and seeing things that no one else caught.

I sat in the car, listening to the local PD frequency. Turns out, Brendan was right – Ferrio was the first to respond. He would be here in less than fifteen minutes. Picking up the radio, I relay the information to Brendan. He acknowledges the new information with a terse reply. The other agents know now, and two hang back while two others follow the lead agent.

Agent Dean kicked down the loose board covering a hole in the open doorway. I feel like I'm watching a cop show as all agents enter the building. Ten minutes later, a plain clothes police car skids up into the parking lot. Ferrio spots me and then walks over to the building.

Patel drags a dusty Warren Craft out of the building, another agent stays between him and the police detective. Ferrio wears an angry expression, but he seems to be keeping his cool.

"Since when does the NSA get involved with a raid? This should be my collar! I–"

"Stow it, Ferrio!" Craft spat. "You might wanna go home and kiss your lady friend good bye."

The other man looks confused, then angry, then fearful. Finally, his face goes blank. He waves him off, and continues inside. Almost immediately, he backs right out. Brendan is guiding a pale and dusty Freya McAllister towards our car. I get out to help, carefully reading the situation. Ferrio is apologizing, his hands raised in surrender. Agent Dean is completely livid; he's even more pale than before. He steps away from Freya, pointing his sharp gaze towards the detective.

Although I've heard stories of that look, I'm never close enough to actually witness it.

Freya grabs his arm belatedly; Brendan has already slugged the guy, sending him reeling. She grabs both his hands now, standing between him and the fallen man. Shaking her head, she finally gets him to see her eyes. I know she's saying it's not worth it, but truthfully, I think I would have done the same thing.

They are now close to the car and I step forward to hug Freya and check her over for injuries. Other than a bruise on her cheek, and filthy clothes, she appears to be fine.

"No, really. I'm fine. He didn't even tie me up."

Brendan is searching her eyes for any indication of a lie. Satisfied, his shoulders sag and he leans against the car. Now she's reading his mind, and they're having one of their one-sided conversations. When he gathered himself, Brendan steered Freya towards the back seat. "Merriweather, you're driving."

As they settled in the back seat, I turned the key, trying not to eavesdrop on their quiet conversation.

I wish I could read minds.

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the end.


End file.
